It wasn’t until he made it out the door and plunged into the brisk morning air that he realized his hands were shaking. Coffee froth spat up from the mouths of the drink lids.
On autopilot, he weaved through the parking lot to his car. He fumbled for his keys and promptly dropped them. Setting the drinks down on the trunk, he took a deep breath and focused on the reflective specks in his black paint job. Then he exhaled as slowly as he could without depriving his brain of much-needed oxygen.
“Get it together, Vanderveer,” he muttered to himself. “You’re acting like you saw a ghost.”
Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you kind of did.
Now that the danger had passed, he couldn’t believe he’d walked out like that. And after Ellis had clearly recognized him too. His sisters’ spidey senses were probably tingling all the way across town. They always seemed to know when he’d behaved poorly.
Still, he was glad he had. If seeing Ellis could unsettle him this much, he couldn’t imagine what talking to him would be like. Though Ellis must think he was the rudest person in the world.
It didn’t matter. He repeated that to himself until he almost started to believe it. They’d had their once-in-a-lifetime chance encounter. Now they’d never see each other again. That was how lightning strikes worked.
Logan took another breath, and this time, when he went to unlock his door, his hand was steady. His briefcase was waiting for him in the passenger seat. He opened the back door first and nestled the drink holder into the seat, as per usual. Although, if he were planning on a speedy getaway, that might not be the best idea. He considered buckling it in for half a second before discarding that idea as too ridiculous even for him.
He shut the door with a sharp click and was just about to climb into the driver’s seat when a shadow fell across the window.
“Hey.” Ellis appeared at his side like a portent of doom. “Long time no see, lover.”
If asked later, Logan would swear up and down that he had not, in fact, jumped out of his skin. He also hadn’t whirled around with all the grace of an unhinged ballerina. And he certainly, certainly had not made a shrill squeaking noise that’d made all the dogs within a five-mile radius sniff the air.
“Ellis,” he yelped when he’d regained control of his vocal chords. “Uh . . . uh.”
“So you do recognize me.” A wry smile slid onto Ellis’s face. “I wasn’t sure.”
For a bewildering moment, Logan honestly considered just getting into his car and gunning it. His watch was ticking in his head, and his desire to avoid this particular conversation hadn’t lessened. It was only the thought of hot coffee spraying across his leather seats that checked him. And Ellis’s eyes, admittedly; they were beautiful from a distance but downright captivating up close . . .
Logan tore his gaze away and swallowed. Uh-oh.
Ellis gave him a quizzical look. “You okay?”
“Um, yeah,” Logan answered with all the majesty of a cow giving birth. Seriously, man, get it together. Is this your first time talking to another person? He tried again. “Sorry, I ran off like that. I didn’t see you.”
“Really?” Ellis’s smile sharpened. “You sure left in a hurry for someone who didn’t see me.”
Well, fuck. It seemed Ellis still wasn’t the sort to mince words.
“Uh, sorry, man. I just realized I’m late for work.” It wasn’t a total lie, but his voice took on the high-pitched, whiny quality it got when he was being dishonest. “I gotta get going.”
He reached for his door handle slowly, as if a sudden movement might make Ellis strike.
He hesitated, however, when Ellis’s expression turned mournful. “Dude, seriously? It’s been four years since we’ve seen each other. You can’t spare a minute for an old friend?”
Logan’s heart did a strange lurching somersault in his chest. His sisters’ voices rang in his ears: “Logan Allen Vanderveer, where are your manners? You’re acting like the guy is going to bite you.”
Well, if memory serves, he very well might.
That thought threatened to give him another flashback. He shook it off. Maybe he should lay off the caffeine after all.
“Right, sorry.” He gave himself another mental shake. “How have you been since I last saw you? That was what, sophomore year? Where are you working these days?”
Logan’s eyes slid down to assess Ellis’s garb. A paint-splattered black shirt—not stylistically splattered either. Accidentally splattered. Logan could tell the difference—ripped jeans, and red high-top sneakers. If this was how Ellis dressed on a Monday morning, he probably hadn’t gone the corporate route like Logan had. Logan had to admit, though: it was a good look for him. Especially now that he’d gotten all . . . muscle-y. Muscular. Whatever.
Ellis caught his eye, which was lingering somewhere around the sliver of underwear visible just above Ellis’s jeans, and raised an eyebrow challengingly. “Did you just give me a once-over?”
Heat crept up Logan’s neck. “No.”
Ellis’s other eyebrow joined the first.
“Well, yeah, I did. Sorry. Um, that’s really embarrassing.”
Ellis grinned. “Can’t be more embarrassing than that stuffy suit you’re wearing.”
That broke Logan from his self-consciousness. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know this suit is designer.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s some real special thread with the name of someone super impressive on the label.” Ellis looked him up and down, not bothering to hide it. Logan couldn’t even protest, considering he’d just done the same thing. “All teasing aside, you look good. For a suit.”
Logan willed himself not to fidget. “Yeah, same to you.”
“I guess a lot has changed since college.” Ellis opened his mouth only to close it again. It looked like he was on the verge of saying something else but couldn’t quite articulate it.
Logan got the distinct impression that he didn’t want to find out what that was. Every minute around Ellis was threatening to launch him down an offshoot of Memory Lane he’d just as soon cordon off. He was tempted to mention how late he was again, but if that hadn’t been a good enough excuse before, it probably wasn’t now. He needed to come up with something else.
“Uh, listen, Ellis . . .” An idea flitted into his head, courtesy of G-Dawg. He gestured to the cups in the backseat. “It’s been great running into you, but you caught me in the middle of a coffee run. The guys in my office get really cranky if they don’t have their caffeine. If I’m late, it’s my ass.”
Ellis’s lips twitched up at the corners, and Logan immediately regretted his word choice. “I understand. I should have guessed from your clothes that you’d ended up in an office job.”
“Yup. Good ol’ capitalism. My company is pretty strict about tardiness, so . . .”
“Right. I’d hate for anything to happen to your ass.”
Logan almost wished he had one of his coffees in hand just so he could take a sip and then spit it out. He had no idea how to respond to that. It must have been evident on his face, because Ellis snorted and looked down at his high-tops. Then he glanced up at Logan with his head still lowered and flashed an impish smile.
The gesture, which was probably second nature to Ellis, hit Logan square in the chest. It was so familiar to him that it sent him hurtling back in time. Another memory played in front of his eyes as vividly as if he were there again.
Logan brushed a strand of unruly brown hair away from Ellis’s face. “You have, like, the longest eyelashes ever.”
“Dude, I know I’m gay, but you don’t have to be so gay about it.” Ellis’s smile belied his pleasure at the comment.
Logan leaned in. Ellis met him halfway, and moments before their lips touched, Ellis whispered, “I could stay like this forever.”
Logan actually felt his blood pressure skyrocket. He needed to get out of here. “So yeah, I’ve gotta go. It was nice running into you.” The platitudes sounded empty even to him.
His lips remained firmly sealed together.
Silence fell between them. When Logan gave no indication that he was going to say more, Ellis sighed. “It was good seeing you again, Logan.” He turned around like he intended to head back into Starbucks. “I mean it. I’ve missed you.”
Shit. Was he really going to let him walk away? Guilt seized Logan’s chest and squeezed. He called after him before he could think it through: “We should get coffee some time. If you want. We could, um, talk.”
Ellis stopped short and looked over his shoulder at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Logan felt both instant relief and anxiety. Hopefully Ellis spoke Adult. A coffee invitation actually meant something akin to, Let’s say we’re going to meet up and then never call each other. Logan made fake coffee plans once a month at his job. Hollow gesture or not, extending the invitation made him feel better about what a jerk he was being.
Ellis spun around. “That sounds great.” There was nothing in his tone or his face to indicate whether he understood Logan’s real intentions.
“Awesome. I’ll catch you later.”
With that, Logan got into his car, slammed the door shut, and drove off with a Fast and Furious-style tire squeal. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he hit a red light, and it all whooshed out of him at once. He deflated against his steering wheel like a flat tire.
Jesus. He hadn’t felt that awkward since his junior prom. And he’d showed up to that wearing a powder blue-tux. With ruffles. Talk about bad memories.
He turned in his seat and craned his neck back the way he’d come. His drinks—which he’d admittedly forgotten about in his haste—had slid across the bench seat to the other side of the car, but miraculously hadn’t spilled. Should have buckled them in after all. The Starbucks was a few turns away, safely out of sight. As was Ellis and the heaping pile of unwanted feelings he engendered in Logan.
Contrition seeped into him, settling like ice water in his gut. Surprised or not, he really shouldn’t have treated Ellis like that. They’d been friends once, and he deserved better. Then again, Logan really was late . . .
And that was the most pathetic excuse ever, he scolded himself. If he were being honest, he knew why he’d reacted the way he had, and it had nothing to do with work. He was running away so he wouldn’t have to face the living embodiment of his one foray into gaydom.
It wasn’t like he was ashamed of what he’d done with Ellis. He just wanted to leave that part of his life behind him. Was that so bad?
If his heart had known Morse code, it would have pounded out a steady Y-E-S against his ribs.
Well, it was over now. Neither of them had each other’s number. And with the way Logan had jetted out of there—twice—there was no way Ellis didn’t know he was being blown off. That thought made Logan queasy.
The light turned green. Logan hit the gas as if he could outrace the unpleasant encounter if he just drove fast enough. By the time he pulled into the parking lot behind his office building, he’d promised himself a dozen times that he wasn’t going to think about Ellis. With a final sigh, he grabbed his briefcase and the drinks holder, locked his car, and trotted up to the nondescript gray building.
The glass front doors parted as he strode toward them as if pulled by invisible strings. Inside, Logan was swept into the steady stream of people bustling around. As he walked, he luxuriated in it: the cacophony of voices, ringing phones, and heels clicking on polished tile. He loved walking into this buzzing hive every morning. It made him feel like he was a part of something. And today it had the added bonus of drowning out his disobedient thoughts.
He hurried past the reception desk, behind which two harried men were snatching up phones like their lives depended on it, and flashed his ID badge to Rhonda, the perpetually cheerful security guard. She smiled brightly at him and waved him through to the elevators. He dodged a sea of people egressing from one and rode another up to the fourth floor.
The doors whooshed open, revealing a wall of cubicles bleached dishwater gray beneath fluorescent lights. Logan whistled tunelessly as he made his way to the corner cubicle on the far left, which he jokingly referred to as a stand-in for the corner office he’d have someday.
He’d just plopped into his desk chair and was about to down his cappuccino when a blonde head popped over the barrier to the right.
“Morning!”
Logan nearly dropped his drink in his lap. “What the hell, Jennifer?”
“Nice to see you too, sunshine.” Jennifer flashed a smile, and twin dimples folded her plump cheeks. “You’re late.”
Logan tapped a key on his keyboard. His company computer flashed to life, revealing the time. “I am not. It’s eight minutes to nine.”
“Which for you is late.” She pointed a polished fingernail at him. The movement made her curls float over her shoulder like in a shampoo commercial. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I, um . . . overslept.”
“I can tell you’re lyiiing,” she sang in a flawless soprano.
“I am not.”
“Uh-huh. That was really convincing.”
Logan sighed and rubbed his temple. “Can you please turn off your mommy senses just this once?”
“Sorry, kiddo. Can’t help it. I’ve been changing diapers for ten years now, and I can smell shit from a mile away.”
“I bet your kids love that.”
“Oh yeah.” She batted her eyelashes. “And my husband too.”
“Moving on,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Did you send the updated Murtagh proofs to their marketing director? We’re launching their new ad campaign in three weeks—”
“As you’re so fond of reminding me.”
Logan continued undeterred. “—and we need the final proposal well before then.”
“As it just so happens, I have the updated proofs right here. The clients loved ’em.” She held up a manila folder that was so bloated with papers, it could have been a small novel.
He took it gingerly, squeezing it shut at both ends in the hopes of keeping its contents from spewing onto the carpet. “Um, I take it they had some corrections?”
“Just a few,” she chirped. “Better get started.”
With that, she ducked out of sight.
Logan stuck his tongue out after her but dutifully opened the file. Inside, he found printouts of the ads he’d spent the last six weeks of his life designing, only now they were covered in scribbled notes, arrows, and highlighter.
“And so it begins.” He licked his thumb and leafed through the pages. Most of it was pretty standard: layout and verbiage changes. Nothing he couldn’t handle. There were a couple of bigger changes he was going to have to think about, but if they liked what he’d done so far, that was a great sign. He fired up Adobe on his computer, chugged half of his cappuccino, and got to work.
He managed to get a lot done. Really. For about an hour. Then someone with thick-rimmed glasses walked past, and Ellis slammed back into his thoughts. No matter how hard Logan tried to turn his focus on work, he kept getting hit with little snippets of memories: hanging out with Ellis in his dorm room, walking across campus at a snail’s pace to prolong the time they had together, holding hands when no one else was around, and the one time Ellis had cornered him behind the music building and kissed him so hard, he—
Logan shook his head until he saw spots. That memory came with a can of worms the size of the Chrysler Building. He rested his elbows on his desk and covered his face with his hands. It was time to face facts. Seeing Ellis again had stirred up some residual feelings in him. If he w
anted to get anything done, he was going to have to figure out what those feelings were, exactly.
If he were honest with himself, he knew it wasn’t Ellis that spooked him. It was what he represented.
For years now, Logan had had a running joke: he was ninety-five percent straight. And it was true, for the most part. When he was growing up, his parents had fed him the typical heterosexual marriage script: he’d meet a nice girl someday and settle down. He’d accepted that, even if he found himself looking at the other boys on the playground just as often as the girls.
When he’d left for college, however, he’d been introduced to a whole new spectrum of possibilities. It seemed like absolutely everyone was experimenting, from the gay kids who hung around outside the Arts Block to the sorority girls who downed margaritas and then made out at frat parties. Logan had thought he might as well join in on the fun. That had manifested into a handful of drunken make-out sessions with guys he ultimately never saw again.
With one notable exception.
Logan was open about his “colorful” past. When people around the office inevitably assumed he was gay because he dressed nicely and used product in his hair, he’d whip out some joke about how everyone experiments in college. They’d all have a good laugh, he’d assure them he was interested in women, and everyone would go home happy.
He was comfortable with it, because none of the guys he’d fooled around with had shaken his belief that he was, at his core, heterosexual.
Except for Ellis.
There’d always been something different about him. Something about his voice, or his attitude, or the way he talked with his eyes down only to look up at you just as he reached the end of his sentence. The memory alone made Logan’s pulse skip.
It didn’t help that Logan had worshipped Ellis back in the day. He was the coolest person Logan had ever met. He’d smoked rolled cigarettes and homebrewed his own beer and had this whole antiestablishment shtick going on. He’d blown off class whenever he felt like it—usually to break into one of the art rooms and paint—and to an impressionable, nineteen-year-old Logan, that had been the embodiment of rebellion.
The Other Five Percent Page 2